


don't you forget it

by Anonymous



Series: forget-me-not verse [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, College Student Peter Parker, Curses, Dubious Consent, Identity Porn, M/M, Magic, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Resurrection, ~ plot but mostly feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:15:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24552214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: It doesn’t matter that it’s been five years for Peter, because for Mr. Stark it's barely been five minutes.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Stephen Strange, Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Series: forget-me-not verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1810165
Comments: 22
Kudos: 139
Collections: Anonymous, Fandom 5K 2020





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aohatsu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aohatsu/gifts).



> Set in a Post-Endgame, Post-FFH (minus the Spider-man identity reveal scene) timeline. Peter is ~ 19.

**I'm so tempted, I just might try and look for you**   
**If I know that you've arrived**

— Aldous Harding, _[Weight of The Planets](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vnB9zltNuNY)_

+

Of all strange things to happen in his dorm, Peter doesn’t think it could get weirder than the time he woke up to his freshman roommate in lingerie during rush season. Peter hadn’t known what to do then, just pretended not to notice Matt’s lacrosse body in fishnets and lace as the other boy crept drunkenly into his own bed. Peter couldn’t really look at Matt the same again after that, because his half-crush on his hot jock roommate had always been embarrassing but the Incident had blown it a bit out of proportion. Luckily they only had a few more months of freshman year left and time saved Peter from doing anything he might regret like confessing his very silly, definitely unreciprocated feelings — Not soon after, Matt had started dating his Chem lab partner Gwen because college is funny like that. So maybe time and Peter’s admiration for Gwen’s passion for the scientific process were to thank for that one.

So far sophomore year had been fairly uneventful in the department of strange things happening in his dorm, which might be because instead of risking more roommate incidents, Peter had removed that variable from the equation altogether and opted for a single during the housing lottery. Not that the MIT dorms were anything to brag about, but until he could afford an off-campus apartment next year, his tiny room was still _his_ room alone. Aside from the incident, Matt and him had gotten along fine, well as fine as Peter would have expected it to be given that he had to actively hide his superhero identity. 

Safe to say, it was nice not having to change in alleys anymore or worry about waking someone else from nightmares Peter had no way of explaining. No more opportunities to witness his roommate in a compromising position or vice versa either, or in other words: _no more weird_. It was perfectly good logic, even if Peter hadn’t exactly run the numbers. 

Clearly, Peter had not accounted for magical wizards with a serious lack of boundaries. 

_“Tony Stark is alive.”_ Peter thinks he’s still dreaming when he first hears the ominous voice, only to almost fall out of his twin-sized dorm bed in shock once he notices the man looming over him, the room dark except for the green glow of the time stone. 

“What the —Who —Mr. Strange?” Peter rasps, barely awake. 

“ _Doctor_ Strange,” Doctor Strange corrects, and snaps his fingers. Peter squints, the fluorescent dorm lighting hurting his sleepy sensitive eyes. He looks the same as the last time Peter saw him, his cape floating behind him. “We’ve met.”

“How’d you even get in here?” Peter rubs a hand over his face, trying to wake himself up some more. 

Doctor Strange crosses his arms, and just stares at Peter in what can only be described as thinly veiled exasperation. 

“Wait dumb question, you’re a wizard. Magic. Space. Right, it’s all coming back now.” Peter stammers, blushing as he looks down at his shirtless chest and remembers just how naked he is underneath his sheets, another perk of living alone that he was now beginning to regret. “Could you just um, turn around, so I can put on some pants?”

Doctor Strange sighs as he sits in Peter’s desk chair and swivels around to give Peter some privacy. 

“Thanks,” Peter says, as he reaches for his sweatpants and tugs them on over his half-interested dick. Peter can only remember traces of the dream Doctor Strange had interrupted, warm hands, dark eyes, the scruff of a well-known beard against the hinge of his jaw. He shakes his head, forcing the elements of the periodic table to appear in front of his eyes as he grabs an old t-shirt from the floor. 

Doctor Strange huffs impatiently, “You would do good to remember who I am, Peter Parker. Unlike your other superhero friends, my time is not to be wasted.” 

“We’re friends?” Peter quips, because he can’t help himself and luckily the shirt’s already over his head when Doctor Strange turns around with a glare. 

“I assure you I want to be here even less than you want me here. But I have no other choice.” 

“No other choice?” Peter repeats, and then his brain catches back up to the first thing Doctor Strange had said. “Wait, Mr. Stark is _alive_?” 

“Yes,” Doctor Strange says without blinking and Peter’s eyes blur with tears.

“How? Where is he? Can I see him? Who else —”  
  
“Parker!” Doctor Strange yells, cutting Peter’s barrage of questions off. “It’s complicated. Now, will you please sit down?”

“But he’s alive. Mr. Stark is alive.” Peter tries to ignore how his heart lurches inside his chest at the possibility. 

Doctor Strange cringes at the creak of his dorm bed as Peter sits down. “For a limited time, yes.”

“A limited time?”

“He’s cursed.” 

“Can you break it?”

“Do you think I would be here in your tiny, unkempt dorm room if I could break it?” 

For the first time, Peter notices just how haggard Doctor Strange looks, the circles under his eyes bluish, an obvious tremor in his hands. “Over the last three weeks I have tried approximately 379 different spells and none of them have done anything. However, a few hours ago on trial 380 finally something occurred.” Doctor Strange looks away from Peter when he says, “The issue is that the results were far from positive.” 

_“_ Mr. Stark has been alive for _three weeks_?” Peter’s eyes widen, a burst of anger on the tip of his tongue but decides that they could argue later. Once Spiderman fixed whatever Doctor Strange messed up and he got to see Mr. Stark again. “What did you do, Doctor Strange?.”

Doctor Strange at least has the decency to not sigh. He stands up and starts doing his yellow sparkly thingy that Peter had last seen him do on Titan right before the battle, except this time the sparks start off yellow and then turn bright pink and purple as a large portal begins to appear right in the middle of Peter’s dorm room.

“Um, is that supposed to be happening?” Peter says, stumbling to his feet as white smoke begins to pour out of the portal. Doctor Strange just grits his teeth as he nods, his eyes fluttering close as he focuses on his magic. Peter tentatively stands next to him, trying to dissipate the smoke with his hands and when that doesn’t work out well, jumps up on the ceiling and crawls to the opposite side of the room to open a window. He drops to the floor with a graceful thump, much to Doctor Strange’s annoyance based on how he hisses, “Be still, Parker.” 

“Sorry, I know it’s magic but I don’t want to be the guy to set off the fire alarm —” The sentence dies in Peter’s mouth as the portal stabilizes, the smoke vanishing as soon as it appears. Next to him, Doctor Strange’s hands fall limp. 

“Woah,” Peter says as he walks closer to peer inside the portal, the surface of which shimmers like water. The portal opens to a bedroom with one of those massive old four poster beds and stone walls — Peter can’t help but compare the whole picture to something out of Game of Thrones. There’s some light pouring through what Peter can only imagine is a balcony or window because it’s out of the portal’s frame, but otherwise the room is ensconced in shadows. Not that Peter cares all too much about those details, because sleeping soundly in the bed is none other than Tony Stark. 

“He’s alive,” Peter gasps as his eyes take in Mr. Stark’s steady breaths, his slightly sleep rumpled shirt, body tucked around a giant pillow. He looks beautiful, even like this, where Peter can’t see the exact details of his face, only the outline of them in the warm dark of the room. Peter doesn’t think, just reaches out his fingers, and then once they slide into the portal with ease, his whole arm. Mr. Stark gently stirs in his sleep, not noticing the probably ridiculous looking floating arm coming out of the giant pink and purple sparkly circle. _You’re alive_ , _you’re alive,_ Peter repeats, the blood rushing in his ears when Doctor Strange pulls him back sharply by the neck of his shirt.

“Hey!” Peter yells, “Let me go, he’s _right there_ — Wait. Where’d it go?” 

Peter blinks at the empty space where the portal had been just a moment ago. 

“That was real, right?” Peter asks, suddenly feeling a little nauseous. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s been fooled by his eyes. “It wasn’t just magic? He’s really alive?” 

“This isn’t some magic trick, Peter,” Doctor Strange says, his voice surprisingly kind. “What you saw was real. Tony Stark is alive.”

Peter lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. 

“Where is he?”

“5.3 billion light years away.” Doctor Strange informs him, sitting down again in Peter’s desk chair. “And before you ask, my best guess at what resurrected him is sheer coincidence. The magic of fate, if you will.” 

Peter nods, sitting down on his bed. It defied science that Mr. Stark would be somewhere in this same universe, breathing, alive again. “Have you tried —”

“We can’t send a ship that far,” Doctor Strange says, anticipating Peter’s next question yet again. “Maybe Captain Marvel. Fury’s tried contacting her, but I’m afraid now we are out of time.” 

Peter blinks, thinking back to the image of Mr. Stark he’s just seen. Peter couldn’t hear anything, but on the surface...he looked normal. At peace, even. “Is he going to —” 

“He won’t die again, Peter. As far as my readings show, he’s perfectly healthy and the planet he’s on is fairly stable.” Peter nods, but Doctor Strange continues, forlorn. “But he will disappear from us if we do not get him back now. I can only generally approximate his location, and I believe this is intentional. The portal is a test. If we solve it, we win a miracle. Tony Stark, Earth’s Greatest Defender back on Earth.”

Peter meets Doctor Strange’s eyes, doing his best not to flinch as he asks, “And if we lose?” 

“If we lose, we continue to live with the inevitable losses from Thanos’s war.” Doctor Strange says, and Peter recognizes the grief in his voice. “Except this time, those of us who knew about this operation will have to live with the fact that we failed to do for a good man what he did for countless others — give him his life back.” 

Peter presses his palms against his eyelids, letting bright sparks pinprick his vision until he no longer feels like crying. The thought of failing Mr. Stark again...hurts. The truth is Peter’s barely begun to forgive himself for what happened three years ago, his memory as fresh as his nightmares. He can’t forget what Mr. Stark had looked like, charred, bloody, barely breathing, can’t stop hearing his foolish voice, mumbling _Mr. Stark. We won, Mr. Stark. We won, you did it, sir, you did it._ The reality of his words hit him at the funeral. As he watched Mr. Stark’s body disappear into the dirt, Peter could finally admit how wrong he was. Nothing about the months after Thanos had left for good felt like a victory. The guilt was enormous, almost as wide as the longing. If only he’d pulled the gauntlet off in time. If only they’d had those five years. If he’d only said what he really meant instead of apologizing as his cells disappeared into ash. 

If this was the price of winning, Peter didn’t want it. He’d read in a grief pamphlet that May had “left” on the dining table that _time heals_. Maybe for some people, but Peter only feels cruel when he notices how the world continues to spin without Tony Stark. 

“Peter?” Doctor Strange says, and Peter realizes that he’s been quiet for some time now, lost in the dark swirl of his thoughts. 

“Sorry,” Peter apologizes, doing his best to steel himself, despite the slight tremor in his voice. He wishes he was in the suit, it’s so much easier putting on the brave face with the mask. “I’m okay. What’s the mission?” 

Thankfully, Doctor Strange doesn’t pry any further. “The spell I used earlier tonight has destabilized the portal. It’s getting harder and harder to open. By my estimates, I will no longer be able to access it by the end of this weekend. At that point, we will lose Stark forever, unless you succeed.” 

“What do you need me to do?” 

Doctor Strange stands up, his cape floating behind him and waves his hands in another circle, opening a yellow portal. “You have exactly one hour to set your affairs in order for the next five days. Do not tell anyone where you are going. No Peter, not even your aunt. You do not need the suit, but you may bring it with you if you wish. ” 

Peter raises an eyebrow. He’s never had a SHIELD mission before that didn’t involve him in the Iron Spider suit. But then again, it’s not like this was a typical mission to begin with. 

“See you soon, Peter. One hour. ” Doctor Strange reminds him, before walking through the portal and vanishes into what Peter remembers to be the New York Sanctum. 

**—**

Peter’s grateful for the cover of fall break. That plus a couple scheduled emails to professors for his Tuesday classes feigning sickness of a terrible stomach bug he caught while back home in New York gives him an additional day, just in case anything with the mission goes wrong (or right **—** Peter would miss a week of class if it meant spending time with Mr. Stark again.) He sends Gwen a text saying he’s decided to go home for the weekend after all, catching the early greyhound, and then decides to CC her on the email to their chem professor for Tuesday just in case she texts him over the weekend to ask when he’ll be back. 

Peter’s still got a good twenty minutes left once he’s set everything up, and even though it’s just past 4 AM, he walks across the hall to take a quick shower. If he can’t take the suit, he doesn’t want the first time Mr. Stark sees him in three years to be ruined by his bed hair. 

Exactly an hour later, Peter walks into the New York Sanctum, the yellow and red sparks fading behind him. His jaw drops as he takes in the room full of magical artifacts and weapons of all kinds, the smell of incense strong in the air. Doctor Strange’s cape waves at him from where it hangs on the wall, and Peter’s ridiculously waving back when the wizard walks into the room. 

“I appreciate your punctuality, Parker.” Doctor Strange says, leading him down the stairs and into what Peter thinks is Doctor Strange’s office. 

“Woah, cool.” Peter says, when he notices the floating candles and symbols engraved into the floor. Not to mention the books, open on almost every possible surface. Maybe “office” wasn’t the right term — Peter thinks magical lair seems like a better description. 

“I promise I’ll give you the grand tour once we’re not fighting against time,” Doctor Strange remarks drily, and Peter smiles even though he knows it’s clear they both wish his first trip to the Sanctum was for a better, less pressing reason. 

“Alright, Doctor what’s the plan.” 

“When you’re ready, I will open the portal. You will have two days to find Stark and be ready in his room. Which means exactly forty eight hours later, I’ll open the portal again for as long as I can one last time and you will walk through it with or without Stark.”

It sounds simple enough, but Peter frowns at the phrasing of that last sentence. “Hold on. What do you mean with or without Mr. Stark?” 

“So far the portal appears to be a one-way ticket for Stark. He can’t see it, much less walk through it, ” Doctor Strange says, suddenly interested in one of the many books lying open on his desk. 

“Okay so he needs someone to guide him. I go through, make sure we’re both at the right place at the right time when the portal opens again, and then we both jump through before it closes,” Peter pushes on, “But that still doesn’t explain why you said _with or without him_. What aren’t you telling me Doctor Strange?” 

For a moment, the wizard says nothing and Peter’s afraid he might have blown his entire chance to rescue Mr. Stark by asking a rather paranoid question. He’s already figured the mission is top secret, but Peter hasn’t seen or heard anyone other than Doctor Strange in the sanctum so far — not Fury or Maria or any other SHIELD agent. It doesn’t freak Peter out as much as it should because after everything that happened in space, he trusts Doctor Strange. What worries Peter instead is just how badly he doesn’t want to fuck this up. This is Mr. Stark’s life in his hands, again. When Doctor Strange showed up in his dorm room, some part of him believed that the wizard was confident he was the answer. However now standing in the room, about to actually travel through space and time, Peter wonders if he’s over his head. 

“No one we’ve sent into the portal so far has walked back through with Stark,” Doctor Strange says finally, his voice quiet. “Not only that, no one we’ve sent into the portal has come back sane.”

“What do you mean?” 

“It’s cruel old magic, something I figured out later than I should’ve. Like I said, the portal is a test. What I didn’t tell you is that if you fail, not only do we lose Stark, but you risk losing your memories.” Peter hears the frustration clear in Doctor Strange’s voice, “I’ve tried to undo the damage for some of the agents but most of them are beyond saving. Based on the scans, almost all of them are showing signs of practically late-stage Alzeheimer’s.”

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Peter blurts out, in shock. 

“Because this potentially won’t be the case for you. Your spider-biology might allow me to heal you, even if we fail to bring Stark back.” Doctor Strange amends, and Peter swallows some of his surfacing anxiety. “I wish I could loop you in more formally, but I can’t in good conscience ask SHIELD to risk the life of another agent knowing there’s a safer option for our last attempt to bring Stark back.”

“So I’m technically not supposed to be here, right?” Peter asks, the abrupt strangeness of the night finally making sense. “Fury hasn’t approved this?” 

“No, not yet,” Doctor Strange’s shoulders sag, and he pushes some books aside to sit on the edge of his desk. “SHIELD will be alerted about the portal malfunction in a few hours, and by the time they get here, you’ll already be gone. That is if you still want to do this, Parker.”

“Of course, I do,” Peter says, without blinking because even with all his insecurities and doubts, if there’s even a sliver of a chance to bring Mr. Stark back, he’ll take it. And it wasn’t just so Morgan could see her father again, but because Peter’s selfish. He wants more time in the lab, more movie nights and take-out, more _good job, kid_ and pictures together. He wants hours and hours with Mr. Stark, to no longer only see him in dreams. 

“Anything for Mr. Stark,” Peter presses the dial of the watch on his wrist, and the Iron spider suit materializes around him, the nanites covering his face in a fluid motion. “I’m ready when you are.” 

“Okay Peter,” Doctor Strange says, taking one at Peter before standing up, and raising his arm. A moment later, Strange’s cape whips through the door, the fabric winding its way around the lit candles in a way that definitely defies physics. “And as much as I enjoy the theatrics, you’ll have to lose the suit for this mission. The portal won’t let you through with anything that can be construed as a weapon.” 

“Huh. Okay. What about a watch?” Peter says, deactivating the suit back into his watch and running a hand through his hair to minimize the nanite frizz. 

Doctor Strange pauses for a moment, “I’m not sure. If you face any resistance walking through the portal this time, remove it immediately otherwise you risk losing your entire arm.”

Peter nods, luckily his powers were biological and unless the portal was more like an MRI than a metal scanner like Doctor Strange implied, he’d still be able to protect Mr. Stark and himself if anything goes wrong and they face any hostile...aliens. 

_Okay, be cool, be cool,_ Peter reminds himself, as Doctor Strange starts circling his hands to open the portal again. This time when the smoke fills the room, Peter doesn’t blink, just tightens his grip on his backpack and stretches a little, and tries to mentally prepare himself to see Mr. Stark again.

The portal takes longer to stabilize, just like Doctor Strange had said. Peter fusses with his hair at least three times before the smoke disappears and Doctor Strange takes a ragged breath, leaning on the desk for support. Peter lets his left hand slide through the portal, breathing a sigh of relief when it slips past the shimmery barrier easily. Clearly, his watch was inconspicuous enough to pass the portal’s requirements. 

“Be careful, Peter. Wherever you’re going, there’s definitely magic there. Things might be different because of it. Remember, two days.” Doctor Strange warns, holding up his fingers. 

“Two days,” Peter repeats, before giving Doctor Strange one last smile and jumping through the portal with a nervous breath.

  
  



	2. ii.

**I hope one dream will get that when we're lucky to be given the chance**   
**I do not have the answer but I don't have the wish to go back**

**—** Aldous Harding, _[Imagining My Man](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xE-A0cNSLmc)_

+

Peter’s first impression of the alien planet is that it’s _hot._ Even standing in the shadows of Mr. Stark’s room, Peter can already feel his shirt sticking uncomfortably to his back, despite the fact that his under armor gear had been specially designed by SHIELD for breathability. 

_On Earth! Ugh._ Peter reminds himself with a sigh, fishing out his water bottle from his backpack and drinking half of it in one gulp. He’s sure part of his discomfort is caused by his senses, which were extra sensitive to drastic temperature changes and stress. 

He surveils the room, which aside from the indentation on the unmade bed, surprisingly showed no sign of Mr. Stark. There isn’t anything personal in the room either, aside from a few books in a language that looked like scribbles to Peter. 

Peter looks behind himself, but it seems the portal vanished almost immediately after he’d gone through it. He’s alone in the room, though he can hear footsteps pacing just outside the regal looking door, which probably belonged to guards. It makes him feel better about how Mr. Stark isn’t in the room, maybe he isn’t a total prisoner to whoever ruled this planet. 

_Or owns this castle_ , Peter thinks in awe as he peers through the stone railings of the balcony, careful to crouch in case anybody notices him from the gardens below. The landscape is actually really beautiful, lush flowering trees and serene water fountains surrounding winding paths despite the heat from not one, but _three_ suns shining bright in the sky. 

Even with the heat, it’s a gorgeous view. Growing up in New York, Peter had never seen so much green, at least not without some six-story building in the background. He pulls his shirt off his head and places it on the surprisingly still cool tile like a towel, before lying down with his arms tucked under his chin. 

After all, there’s not much Peter can do right now except watch and wait for Mr. Stark to come back. 

**—**

Peter almost loses track of time as he lies there, cataloging the paths of the gardens, watching its visitors as they flow in and out of his sight. So far all the aliens Peter’s seen look like humans from a distance, though Peter’s super-hearing can hardly recognize the language they speak. There’s also not very many of them, despite the vastness of the garden, and Peter notes they strangely only walk around in pairs. 

He glances at the sky, it doesn’t look like it’s getting dark anytime soon even though according to his watch it’s been approximately two earth hours and he’s realizing that despite the heat, his skin hasn’t tanned even a little bit. Sure he’s still sweating profusely but at this point, Peter expected to be thoroughly sun burned.

Peter studies the gardens again. It’s a risk, but he has his ~~Peter Tingle~~ spider sense, not to mention there’s plenty of shrubbery he can hide behind (or in) to make a quick escape in case any of the alien couples find him suspicious-looking. And if that isn’t enough, the balcony is raised maybe twenty feet **—** a piece of cake for Peter’s spider-man skills. 

It might not be smart, but it’s possible. Besides, each hour he lies here could be an hour he might not ever have again with Mr. Stark if the portal doesn’t let them both back through. If Peter fails, once again. 

**—**

Peter’s lost, or at least he’s pretty sure he’s missed a turn (or two). The garden really does seem to go on forever, almost touching the horizon, and without his suit, Peter soon loses his minimal sense of direction. He tries to go back, based on his memory of the coolest looking plants. It would be easier if he could activate his suit but after narrowly avoiding almost four alien couples, he doesn’t want to risk drawing any more attention to himself. ****

So it’s sheer luck that Peter finds himself here, standing in front of what looks like a giant version of one of those glass desk terrariums. He suspects it’s the alien version of a green-house. ****

“Woah,” Peter says out loud as he walks inside, taking in how the trees move intuitively to create a path for him. There must be hundreds, if not thousands of species of flora and fauna all living under one roof. ****

Though it’s not all as cool as he imagines. What he thinks is a fly buzzing in his ear actually ends up being more of a large flying spider. And no matter what Ned thinks, Peter _can’t_ actually talk to spiders, not ones on Earth and definitely not red alien ones with wings. ****

“Bad spider! Bad! ” Peter flails, running away from the creature, grateful when the trees close up behind him the next time he takes a turn. ****

And that’s when Peter finds him. ****

For a moment, he just stares at Mr. Stark, standing not even six feet away from him, looking so familiar even if he is tending to a variety of writhing tentacle-like flowers. ****

Eventually, Peter catches his breath, remembers his voice. “Mr. Stark,” he chokes out. ****

“Haven’t heard that in a while,” Mr. Stark says, his voice surprised. He turns to face Peter, peering at him from over his designer glasses. He’s in loose fitting dark joggers and a simple white short-sleeved t-shirt, a notebook and pencil in his hand. ****

Peter’s jaw drops at how...normal the scene looks, though if this was Earth, Mr. Stark would probably be using a holopad instead. ****

“Are you okay?” Mr. Stark asks, his expression caught somewhere in between worry, confusion, and surprise. Probably because Peter’s interrupted his alien botanical research and is definitely shaking a little. ****

“No. I mean yes,” Peter blurts out. It’s one thing to have seen Mr. Stark through the screen of the portal, and completely another to be standing barely a few feet away from him. This close, Peter can’t deny that it’s him. It’s really _him._ ****

“You’re alive,” Peter exhales, taking a step closer, his eyes catching on the golden cuff bracketing Mr. Stark's bicep. He hadn’t noticed that when Doctor Strange had first shown him Mr. Stark. Aside from that addition, Mr. Stark looks much the same as Peter remembers him from their more easy-going days in the lab. If anything, he looks even more relaxed than Peter could ever picture him as, his beard neatly trimmed, hair coiffed perfectly, more dark than grey. Still he’s _Tony Stark_ , down to the warm, but inquisitive grin that Peter’s dreamt about for more time than he’d like to admit. ****

“Yeah, I would hope so, kid” Mr. Stark says, as he closes his notebook and tucks the pencil behind his ear. He looks at Peter again, studying him, and Peter incredulously notices a flash of heat in his stare. ****

“About time they sent another —” Peter doesn’t let Mr. Stark finish his sentence, just takes the two steps needed to throw his arms around the older man, pulling him into a crushing hug. Peter tucks his chin into Mr. Stark’s neck so he can hear the pulse thudding just underneath his skin loud and clear, on the verge of tears because _wow._ He didn’t think he’d ever hear it up close again. ****

“I’ve missed you so much.” Peter gasps, and while he misses the smell of motor oil and expensive cologne, Mr. Stark still smells like _him,_ sweet even underneath the misty scent of the greenhouse and alien plants. He clings to the older man, content, and it isn’t until Mr. Stark clears his throat that Peter realizes his palms are just patting Peter’s back awkwardly. ****

It’s a far cry from their last hug (where Mr. Stark shuddered _hold me, hold me_ before pulling Peter against his suit, metal-warm and real) but Peter takes a step back anyway, nervous that he’d crossed a boundary by accident. ****

“Sorry, Mr. Stark” Peter murmurs, feeling a little embarrassed at how forward he’d just been. It’s clear from his experience so far that there’s definitely magic on this planet and Doctor Strange had warned him things might be different because of it. They’d always been touchy, but maybe something about being resurrected here had changed how Mr. Stark reacted to things like that.

“Jesus,” Mr. Stark mutters underneath his breath, looking at Peter and then away and then back at Peter again, like he can’t find the words. Meanwhile, Peter studies Mr. Stark’s face, taking in the details again just because he can, biting his lip anxiously. ****

“Okay no I’m sorry, kid.” Mr. Stark says finally, and Peter notices how his heartbeat speeds up as he places a hand on Peter’s shoulder. Peter blushes under his gaze, intuitively leaning into the touch. “I’m sure we’ve met at some point at the Christmas Gala or something but I genuinely can’t remember every SHIELD agent Fury forces me to meet. Even the really pretty ones. So do an old man a favor, and remind me who you are again?” ****

 _Remind you?_ _SHIELD agent?_ Peter frowns in confusion, his anxiety too sharp to even blush about how Mr. Stark just described him _as one of the pretty ones._ “You don’t remember me?” ****

Peter waits for the shoe to drop, for recognition to flash across Mr. Stark’s face, for the crew of Punk’d to jump out from behind the trees. Peter waits, even though Mr. Stark is looking at him like a stranger, with nothing more than a genuine apology in his eyes. ****

When Mr. Stark just shrugs in response, Peter’s stutters, “Mr. Stark? It’s um, It’s Peter. Peter Parker.” ****

“Call me Tony, Peter.” Mr. Stark — _Tony_ says, kindly. “Only shitty reporters call me Mr. Stark and I don’t think you’re here to haggle a quote from me.” ****

_Oh god, this is real._ The same thought had brought Peter joy a moment ago, but now Peter’s horrified. Nothing Doctor Strange's told him had prepared him for this — a world in which after everything they’ve been through, Mr. Stark sees right through him like he’s no one at all. ****

“Or... you can call me Mr. Stark, if that makes you feel better?” Tony says, awkwardly when Peter takes a step back, his eyes blurry. _He doesn’t remember me, He doesn’t remember me, He doesn’t_ — ****

Tony sighs, letting his hand fall. “Seriously kid, it’s nothing personal. I’m the kind of genius asshole that can recite three hundred digits of pi but still manages to forget every single anniversary. Or birthdays. Just ask my ex-wife.” ****

 _Ex-wife?_ Peter swallows the sob threatening to break inside his chest, his mind fixating instead on that small detail. Pepper had moved on recently, and sure it made some front covers considering she’s still CEO of Stark Industries, but it’s not like Mr. Stark can access the New York Times from wherever they are. ****

“Yeah, I heard about her and Jim from the board. The guy they sent before you was kind enough to recite Vanity Fair’s profile about him word for word. I’m not jealous, don’t worry. Jim’s nice, but he’s not the guy who kicked Thanos’s ass. I’m pretty sure there’s a Nobel Peace Prize with my name on it for that one when I get back. ” Tony says, half-joking but Peter knows him too well. The grief of what he’d left behind is plain in his eyes. “Anyway, any other Non-Jim related updates from Earth?” ****

Peter opens his mouth, but then closes it again. He’d imagined so often what he would say to Mr. Stark if given the chance again, had dreamed about telling him about his classes at MIT, how he’s taking Introduction to Quantum Mechanics with the professor that Mr. Stark had introduced him to once at the SI Christmas Gala, how he’s probably going to major in biochem but minor in physics. He wants to tell Mr. Stark about how the autumn leaves in Cambridge might be beautiful but he still misses New York, how MJ and him hadn’t ended up working out because he likes boys, _men_ even, how after Beck he dreamt of nothing but dust for months. ****

“Wow. News cycle’s slow this week, huh. Or maybe, you’re just one of the silent types,” Tony says, filling the quiet between them. ****

“Morgan says hi,” is what Peter finds himself saying instead. He remembers her last birthday party, how his hearing had picked up her whispered wish for her dad to come back. She’s eight now, and Peter loves her more than he can put to words. “Also, Pepper’s thinking of moving to California.” Peter adds, remembering the email he’d received from Pepper just last week. He’s going to miss being able to stop by the Tower when she moves to California in December — even though Pepper emphasized it was more of a trial-run before they officially made any announcements for the new year. ****

To his surprise, Mr. Stark is looking at him suspiciously. “I can’t decide if you’re usually this earnest about tabloid gossip or if you actually know my daughter and ex-wife.” ****

“Oh. Um.” Peter flounders, realizing in that moment that the only thing Mr. Stark knows about him so far is that he’s a SHIELD agent sent to extract him from an alien planet, and that normal SHIELD agents probably don’t have the kind of access to Pepper Potts and Morgan Stark that Peter has. ****

Peter considers telling Mr. Stark the truth of who he really is, it would make this whole operation a whole lot easier for him because right now he’s in uncharted territory in more ways than one. When it came to his identity, Peter’s never had to hide things from Mr. Stark before, not like with May or his friends. He’d barely had his powers for six months before Mr. Stark intervened, somehow with answers to questions Peter hadn’t even asked yet. ****

Peter wants Mr. Stark to know who he really is, standing in front of him, wants to him to know their story, the funny stuff (like how Peter accidentally set fire to DUM-E his third week in the lab) and the sad stuff (how Peter has panic attacks so bad sometimes all he can taste is ash). ****

For a moment, Peter imagines that conversation. Imagines the words coming out of his mouth, _You know me sir, we’re ..._ Peter likes to think they’re friends, or friendly with each other at the very least even with the years splitting them apart, even with Peter always dreaming, wanting, wishing for more. Sometimes, after Mr. Stark had learned that Vulture had dropped a building on him, it felt like more. Sure there were hours in the lab and all the usual superhero stuff, but there was also invitation to movie nights, museum trips, homework help, and at the very end, even a weekend in Boston because apparently for Tony Stark’s protegé it’s never too early to start considering MIT. It was no secret Mr. Stark enjoyed spoiling the people he cared about, Peter just never expected to become one of them. ****

_You know me sir, we’re...close._ But what then? Mr. Stark would be shocked, hurt, and probably really angry at Peter for risking his mental sanity just to save him. Peter didn’t even know this sort of selective amnesia was possible, it sounds crazy to tell someone they remember everything but one person. Which brings him to the other issue of telling Mr. Stark — who’s to say he won’t think Peter’s lying? Peter isn’t the first person they’ve sent on this mission, and Mr. Stark doesn’t know yet he’s the last. Peter doesn’t think he should tell him that either, mostly because he doesn’t want to believe Doctor Strange when he said that they could lose Mr. Stark forever _again_ . ****

“You okay, kid? I was only joking.” Mr. Stark says, and Peter realizes he sounds worried. Probably because Peter’s been quiet for entirely too long. “Pepper doesn’t like most SHIELD agents, and by most SHIELD agents, I mean anyone who isn’t Maria Hill.” ****

Peter can’t help it — he laughs. It isn’t even that funny of a comment, it’s just that Peter’s heard Mr. Stark say it before. SHIELD needed Pepper to help with a mission, and Mr. Stark had adamantly refused her involvement and suggested they find another way instead — _Good luck with that, Pepper doesn’t like most SHIELD agents, and by most SHIELD agents, I mean anyone who isn’t Maria Hill_ — and Peter had to admit the real kicker was that Tony had said it directly to Fury’s face. ****

“Sorry, um it’s just, she’s my boss.” Peter lies, once he manages to control himself. The worry doesn’t exactly unwrinkle itself from Mr. Stark’s face. He still regards Peter with something uncertain in his expression, but doesn’t push it much further. ****

“Speaking of SHIELD agents, in case they haven’t told you, you’re number 13,” Tony says, and Peter’s stomach sinks. He knew they’d sent people in before him but _thirteen_ ? Peter realizes then the look in Mr. Stark’s eyes is part guilt. “Don’t worry, I’m crossing my fingers this time.” Tony says, attempting to be chipper. He leans into Peter’s space, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “ So champ. What’s the plan?” ****

“Uh. Um.” Peter stutters, his brain sparking at the sudden contact of Mr. Stark’s fingers rubbing absent circles into the bare skin of Peter’s bicep, slipping up the sleeve of his t-shirt and his expectant expression. ****

“Are you sure you’re okay?” ****

“Sorry, Mr. Stark —” ****

“Remember it’s Tony, kid.” ****

“Right, sorry. Um. Tony.” Peter says, reminding himself that even if _Tony_ talks like Mr. Stark, smells like him, smiles like him, he isn’t the man Peter knows. It doesn’t matter that it’s been five years for Peter, because for _Tony_ it’s barely been five minutes. ****

“Don’t worry, kid. You’re on a weird magical alien planet risking your life for a dead guy that you hardly know — obviously, it’s a lot.” Tony says, giving Peter’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. ****

 _I do know you, sir,_ Peter thinks, biting his tongue. But Tony isn’t wrong. Peter’s definitely overwhelmed, just not for the reasons Tony thinks he is. ****

“You don’t have to explain everything now. I know there’s a protocol for missions like these, but at this point I kind of know how this goes.” Tony says, with a kind smile. “When is Doctor Strange opening the portal again?” ****

“In two days, sir.” Peter says. ****

“So our ride’ll be here tomorrow night.” Tony frowns, stepping away from Peter and muttering under his breath “That’s longer than usual.” He turns to look at Peter, “Are you sure he said two days?” ****

“Tomorrow night?” Peter asks instead, choosing to ignore Tony’s question. ****

“Well, this planet has thirty-five hour days. By two Earth days, Doctor Strange gave you approximately forty-eight hours. Estimating when you got here this afternoon, the portal should show up probably right around sunset tomorrow based on this planet’s rotation.” Tony explains, his eyes analyzing Peter again. “They usually explain this in your mission brief before you get here. There’s a lot I don’t know about this planet, but time was one of the first things I figured out.” ****

“Totally, I just um. Forgot. Sorry, won’t happen again.” Peter stutters, before desperately changing the subject. “What else have you figured out?” ****

Tony gives Peter a strange look but doesn’t question his flailing any further. Instead he sticks out his arm, the one with the golden bracelet. “Why don’t I show you instead?” ****

Peter raises an eyebrow, but takes Tony’s arm. ****

“What’s supposed to — oh my god.” Peter gasps as what feels like a white hot jolt of electricity run up his left arm. He closes his eyes in shock, stumbling away from Tony until his legs hit the back of something … hard but soft? ****

Peter blinks, hesitantly, sitting down on a bed. His arm still stings like hell, but he recognizes the balcony immediately, and turns to Tony with his mouth open in surprise. “Did we just… teleport? Into your room?” ****

Tony nods, sitting down next to Peter, but he isn’t smiling as he takes in the angry red lines on the skin of Peter’s left arm. “I’m sorry kid, I didn’t mean to hurt you. It never hurt the others.” ****

“That’s okay,” Peter says, even though his head feels woozy in the same way it does after he gets shot every now and then. “I can’t believe we teleported. That’s so cool, Mr. St — Tony. Do you know how?” ****

“Honestly kid, I wish I could give you some scientific explanation but the truth is, it’s just magic,” Tony says, “Are you sure you’re okay?” ****

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Peter lies, biting back a hiss when Tony briefly touches the line criss crossing on the inside of Peter’s elbow. There’s no blood, but it still hurts. ****

Luckily, Tony doesn’t believe him for a second. “No, you’re not.” He stands up and walks into what Peter guesses is an attached bathroom. Peter yawns, the throb of his arm reminding him just how little he’d slept before Doctor Strange had burst into his dorm room. Tony wouldn’t mind if he takes a nap right? The bed’s comfier than it looks, and the pillows even smell like Mr. Stark. ****

 _They smell like Tony,_ Peter corrects, a little delirious. He pulls off his shirt with his free hand and leans back into the bed, stretching as much as he can without jostling his hurt arm. He lets out a pleasant groan as his muscles relax, his free hand trailing down his bare stomach. ****

It’s at that exact moment that Tony walks back in, holding a wet cloth. ****

Peter’s half aware of what he must look like, shirtless and stretched out on Tony’s bed, and he blushes in embarrassment. It doesn’t help that Tony doesn’t say anything, just stands there, eyes dark as he looks at Peter, probably wondering why SHIELD authorized such an inept agent for this mission. ****

“Hey, no, kid it’s okay,” Tony exclaims, when Peter winces as he tries to sit up, despite the pain. “Lie down. You need to rest, you’re hurt.” ****

“I’m sorry, I know it’s your bed. You’re probably tired.” Peter stutters, his cheeks red. ****

Tony shakes his head, “Kid, it’s barely dinner time here. Besides, you definitely need it more than me. Your arm looks painful to even look at and that’s coming from the guy who lived with shrapnel in his chest. ” ****

Peter smiles weakly, even though Tony isn’t wrong. He usually feels the effect of his super healing by now, but so far, the pain in his arm felt like it was only getting _worse._ “I’m sorry I’m such a mess.” ****

“Peter, you’re not a mess, you’re —” Tony pauses, and Peter swears he almost deliriously hears him whisper, _beautiful_ under his breath. “You’re going to be just fine,” Tony finishes, leaning over Peter to place the wet cloth on his arm. “This should help.” ****

“Oh, _wow._ ” Peter moans, as the throbbing heat in his arm is replaced by a pleasant water-like coolness. If Peter’s eyes were heavy before, he’s on the verge of a dream now. ****

“I’m glad that worked, kid” Tony responds, quiet but fond, letting his hand run through Peter’s hair. ****

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” Peter says, keening into the touch with a gasp. It’s been so long since anyone has touched him like this, so easily and exactly how _he_ used to. ****

“No problem, kid,” Tony whispers back, and Peter’s too tired to question why Tony doesn’t correct him this time. Instead, he intuitively leans into Tony’s touch as his hands gently pet his hair. Strangely, Peter hears Tony’s heart speed up a little as he does. ****

“This is nice,” Peter murmurs, a little curious but his eyes flutter close before he can think more about it.


	3. iii

**I broke my neck  
dancing to the edge of the world, babe  
my mouth is wet, don't you forget it  
don't you lose me**

**—** Aldous Harding, _[Horizon](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m4dVkoOMjLo)_

+

Surprisingly, Peter wakes up alone, the warm light of dusk pouring into the room from the balcony. Even from the bed it’s a gorgeous view and Peter’s amazed at the shades of pink violet tinting the sky as the three suns dip into the horizon.

He can hear Tony’s heartbeat in the adjoining bathroom, along with the sound of water pouring. Peter assumes he’s showering (or whatever the alien version of a “shower” is anyway). Peter doesn’t remember how long he’d slept, but it must’ve been at least a couple of hours seeing as how the suns are setting. According to Tony, Doctor Strange’s portal should appear around this time tomorrow, which because of how long the days are, is still more than twelve hours away. 

Peter sighs before he sits up, tentatively peeling off the now-warm cloth on his hurt arm. Peter knows his super-healing’s kicked in as he stares at the now faint and practically painless pink scars, but given his experiences on the alien planet so far, he can probably get away by blaming it on some magical excuse if Tony asks.

It takes him a second to notice the indentation in the side of the bed next to him. When he reaches his arm out, it still feels relatively warm. _So it wasn’t totally a dream,_ Peter thinks, ridiculously recalling the firm weight against his back, the arm thrown across his chest. Tony had slept here, next to him, at least for a little while. He doesn’t remember when they’d decided that’s what they were doing, but Peter believes that’s partly his fault considering he had all but turned into mush with Tony’s fingers carding through his hair. 

It’s a gesture which Peter associates completely with comfort, safety, kindness, _home._ Not that Mr. Stark had done it an awful lot, but occasionally when he knew Peter’s week had been exceptionally stressful, or he’d shown up in the lab obviously sleep-deprived from his nightmares. Peter had never considered himself to be a tactile person, especially with his overloaded senses from the spider bite, but Tony Stark had proved him wrong yet again. With Mr. Stark, Peter had yearned to be touched, no matter how platonic or otherwise, and in the long years after his death, the small instances of his fingers brushing up against the older man in the lab or bumping shoulders with him in the compound’s kitchen are just the sort of things Peter had found himself dreaming about too. 

Some part of him had imagined knowing that Mr. Stark is _alive_ would be enough to diminish the longing, because Peter knew his obsession had only grown stronger in the years away from the man. But somehow seeing Tony had only made the ache in his chest worse. 

_Maybe it would be different if he’d remember me,_ and Peter imagines the reunion again. How Mr. Stark would hug him, greet him with that same speechless but telling crinkle in his eyes. He’d be angry sure, but not before he’d echo Peter’s relief, _it’s good to see you again, kid, even though this might be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done._ Peter would nod, half-crying and tell him everything, about Pepper and Morgan and MIT and Beck, rambling until Mr. Stark shut him up with another hug. He could see them together, spending the hours until Doctor Strange opened the portal again just talking about the life waiting for Mr. Stark on the other side. Mr. Stark would explain everything he’d learned about the planet with easy precision and Peter would exclaim _that’s so cool_ way too many times and somehow, it would be just a little like the lab. 

Peter would know that even if he failed, he still got what he wanted — more time with the man he loves. 

Maybe once they’d exhausted a good portion of the conversation, lying next to each other on this very bed, Peter would tell him exactly that. He doesn’t think Mr. Stark would turn him down, but Peter knows he would be quiet, thinking, which is why Peter would eventually stutter out, _you don’t have to say anything, I just needed you to know._

Which is true. Some time ago, Peter had made his peace with the fact that some dreams would remain dreams. And if this is reality Peter’s doing his best to imagine, then for the things Peter feverishly wants from Mr. Stark, their history would always work against him. Which is to say even if Peter would be almost twenty lying next to him, sharing the truth of what he felt, Mr. Stark would never see past the fifteen year old kid he’d whisked away, not so quickly anyway. 

Peter knows in a perfect world he could wear Mr. Stark down eventually, because it’s not like Peter’s secretly evil or hideously unnatractive — maybe a little annoying, but he’s _had_ sex and while it so far hasn’t been the kind of orgasmic firework experience he’s convinced himself it would be, it’s still something. Peter knows now that he’s someone people can want, and uh _enjoy_ wanting and while his data set of young college twenty somethings is hardly enough to conclude that yes, in a perfect world, Genius Billionaire Playboy Philanthropist _Tony Stark_ might feel the same way, Peter can’t disagree that it’s at least something to take into account for the larger experiment. 

Peter shakes his head, ignoring the flair of heat at even imagining Mr. Stark, and gets up to walk around the room and stretch his legs. The heat still sticks to his skin, even though he’s shirtless and reaches into this backpack to fish out another water bottle, only to come up empty. Peter frowns, he swears he packed at least three. At least he still had his granola bars. Peter doesn’t realize how hungry he is until he bites into the nutty chocolate bar, grateful that Tony isn’t around to see him groan at how good it tastes. It’s almost past lunch time back home, and the spider bite didn’t make things easy for his metabolism. 

Peter scarfs down two bars before the parchness of his throat becomes unbearable to swallow around. He looks around the room for his water bottles, maybe they fell out of his backpack when they teleported into the room? But aside from a pair of empty chalices in the side table, there’s nothing to be found. 

Not that the chalices weren’t cool, because while Peter didn’t know much about dishware, he could tell these were important based on their gold, intricate design. They looked like they should be up on shelves, not hidden in a drawer. 

Peter hardly thinks before holding one up, and he flinches when the metal begins to heat up in his palm. It’s not too hot though, just warm like the rest of the room, and Peter’s just about to wonder why when he notices that the chalice isn’t empty anymore, instead the cup is full of a milky rose liquid that Peter could swear wasn’t there when he’d picked it up. 

_Magic,_ Peter thinks in amazement as he sniffs at the drink, his eyes fluttering close at the scent. It smells… divine. Peter can’t exactly place the smell, but somewhere between strawberries, rose petals, and… fresh laundry? He’s never wanted to drink fresh laundry before, but he also can’t remember the last time he was this thirsty. 

He downs the drink, and despite the warmth of the metal, the drink is still a smooth, velvety cool. It’s thicker than water but goes down just as clean, and Peter’s already mourning how quickly he finishes his first glass when he notices that the chalice has amazingly started to refill itself. 

“Woah,” Peter says as he watches the liquid pool in the cup and while he doesn’t swallow the second drink as fast, it’s still gone pretty quickly. Not that Peter thinks he could handle any more, somehow he feels hydrated enough to run a half marathon. It seems that the cup seems to get the message too because no more magical refills appear when Peter drops the chalice back into the drawer. 

He’s barely made it to the balcony when he feels it — the thrum underneath his skin like his joints are screwed on just a little too tight, the senses dialed up _past_ eleven, and that reckless need to _jump_ and go fight some _really bad_ bad guys.

“Oh no,” Peter says with a surprised breath, clinging on to the stone railing to steady himself only to watch it crumble a little in his hands. Peter gasps, pulling his hands back and he stumbles back onto the bed. _Not again,_ Peter thinks deliriously as he sits up, hugging a pillow to his chest. 

He’s no stranger to what stimulants can do to someone with his spider biology, thanks to the thoroughness of Mr. Stark’s scientific superhero experiments and Peter’s knack for accidents in the lab. At sixteen, he’d had no idea sneaking a sip of the man’s black coffee would go so poorly. 

Peter feels stupid for not waiting for Tony before gulping down whatever delicious drink had magically appeared in the chalice, but at least he knows he’s probably ingested an alien version of caffeine which means he’ll just have to wait out the symptoms, like last time. At least this time, he isn’t handling precious, highly dangerous lab equipment. Peter still feels guilty for almost causing DUM-E to lose his arm.

 _Just calm down, it’ll be over soon_ Peter thinks, concentrating all his efforts on making his lungs inhale and exhale, letting his legs stretch out in front of him. Peter closes his eyes as he tries his best to block out the external stimuli, willing his pulse to stop hammering so fast. 

It works, at least enough that Peter hardly notices the sound of water stopping until a very underdressed Tony walks into the room. 

“Good to see someone got their beauty sleep,” Tony teases, and Peter’s eyes fly open with a start. So much for calm, Peter internally groans as Tony flashes him a grin, his skin still wet from his shower as he walks past Peter wearing only the golden arm bracelet and a pair of dark boxers low on his hips. He’s got a towel slung around his bare shoulders, and Peter’s mouth falls open as he notices the scar in the center of his chest. 

It’s one of the less obvious parts of Mr. Stark that Peter’s never seen before. Even when Mr. Stark had been shirtless in the gym, he’d always worn the nanotech unit.

“Not that you need it, kid” Tony adds, once he notices the direction of Peter’s stare. 

“You don’t either,” Peter says, his pulse actively picking up speed and purely on instinct. It isn’t until the words are out of his mouth that Peter realizes he should have the decency to at least try to look away (key word: _try_ ). 

“Really?” Tony says, his eyes twinkling with something dark, “I’d say take a picture, but I’m pretty sure you already have plenty of those.”

“What?” Peter says, mouth suddenly dry as Tony walks — _stalks_ _—_ closer until he’s dripping right in front of where Peter’s sitting frozen on the bed. For one terrifying moment, Peter thinks he _knows,_ has somehow read Peter’s mind this entire time, just waiting for the right time to call him out on it. 

“Oh come on, Peter” Tony says, with a decisive grin and Peter holds his breath, waiting for the ball to drop when Tony _kneels_ in front of him. 

“You’re a fan, admit it,” Tony murmurs, breath warm against Peter’s knee, even through the fabric. His finger brushes against the top of Peter’s watch, “And I’m not talking about just my tech.” 

There’s no denying the invitation when Tony’s touch lingers, fingers tracing dizzying circles into Peter’s wrist. It’s not that Peter hadn’t noticed the flirtation, the touchiness, the tension before, it’s just that from the moment he found out it was coming from _Tony_ and not Mr. Stark, he’d done his best to not think about it any further because… because it hurt too much. It hurt because Peter knew that if Mr. Stark could remember, things would be different. He would never give Peter this so easily, could never justify jumping into something like this without considering the consequences. 

“Kid,” Tony whispers, and he’s close enough now that Peter can smell the honey scent of his skin. Peter’s eyes widen as he takes a deep breath involuntarily, his brain growing fuzzy at the edges. Not only are his senses in overdrive, he’s _horny._

 _This isn’t supposed to happen,_ Peter panics, freezing and biting his lip hard to stop his cock from twitching next to Tony’s face. Tony, who is looking at him with such earnest, unbelievable _want_ Peter feels like he’s living in one of his wet dreams. 

Except it isn’t a dream. It’s real. This is _actually_ Tony Stark, even though he doesn’t remember Peter. If Peter crosses this line and they make it back tomorrow, when Tony figures out who he _actually_ is back in New York, he’ll never forgive himself. Peter doesn’t want to take advantage of Tony’s trust like this, and he’s sure if it wasn’t for the weird alien drink messing with his head, he’d walk out of the door right now. 

“Tony,” Peter tries, but his voice comes out too thick, too raw, too breathless to be anything firm. Instead, he reaches to cup Tony’s jaw, his face cool against the heat of Peter’s palm. Even this small touch sends a shiver down his spine, and Peter can’t hide the whine from slipping out a little, his cock more than half-hard and a few inches away from Tony’s mouth. 

“It’s okay,” Tony says, just a little bit desperate, and Peter wants to laugh darkly at just how much it isn’t. Tony doesn’t pick up on Peter’s minute internal distress as he kisses the edge of Peter’s thumb as it brushes over his lips. 

While Peter’s resolute logical decision making skills had been questionable for the past few minutes, he could at least hear his inner voice feebly protest against how the alien drug was making him throw himself at Tony. _He wouldn’t want this,_ nags the voice in the back of his head, but then Tony leans closer, his breath fanning over the noticeable bulge in Peter’s pants. 

“Peter, I’ve wanted you to fuck my mouth from the moment I saw you” Tony confesses in a low voice. He looks up at Peter through his eyelashes, a move that Peter thought had no way of working outside of porn (wrong, it works. It definitely works. ) 

_He wouldn’t want_ — _oh god, oh fuck, oh_. Peter’s thoughts spiral as his enhanced senses pick up Tony’s warm breath through the thin fabric. The possibility of Tony Stark wanting to suck his dick overrides Peter’s last shred of defense and he nods, neck almost snapping with the force of his conviction. 

“Good boy,” Tony hums and Peter tries to hide his blush, even though the praise makes his stomach flip. “Get undressed and lie back.” 

Peter’s head spins as he stands up, but he manages to kick off his pants before his vision blurs too seriously. 

“God you’re gorgeous,” Tony murmurs, and Peter can’t think as Tony leans over him, running his palms down Peter’s bare abs, before letting one finger run along the length of his hard cock. 

Peter had dreamed about getting naked with Mr. Stark for years, and none of the circumstances included being high on alien drugs on an alien planet. In fact, now that it’s happening Peter can’t find any of the normal words, instead he just whines with his hands clenching into the sheets, nervous with anticipation. 

“Shh, it’s okay Peter. I’ll take care of you.” Tony adds, and the sureness in his voice calms some of the buzzing in his head. He presses a chaste kiss to the inside of Peter’s thigh, almost tender. 

“I’m sorry, I just. No one really. Um.” Peter tries, breathless and honest “Usually, it’s the other way around?” 

“You’re kidding,” Tony says, raising an eyebrow. 

Peter nods, biting his lip. It isn’t just his submissive streak, but Peter knows he’s a little below average. He doesn’t exactly have the kind of dick that people are lining up to choke themselves on. Not like Tony, who based on the tight line in those boxers, had a cock that could easily make Peter drool.

“Well, I feel sorry for all those schmucks, they’re missing out.” Tony adds, gentle but firm “Seriously kid, even your cock is pretty”

“ _Oh_ ,” Peter breathes, the praise making his cock twitch noticeably. Tony grins, and that’s all the warning Peter gets before he leans down and swallows Peter whole.

Peter groans, eyes fluttering as his cock grazes the back of Tony’s throat, the older man humming in content as he bobs his head steadily.

It’s good, _too good_ , his senses pulling in all sorts of delicious, overwhelming input because of the alien drug still in his system and in a few minutes, Peter can already feel the electric edge of his orgasm. 

“ _Mr. Stark_ ,” Peter chokes out accidentally, his filter broken with the energy it’s taking him not to come right then and there. 

To his surprise, Tony’s eyes darken, pulling off Peter’s cock with an indecent pop.“You know, I take it back.” Tony says, voice rough and hoarse in a way that has Peter’s toes curling. _I did that_ , Peter thinks in shock, in awe. 

“I’m starting to see the appeal of _Mr. Stark._ ” Tony says, grinning as he jacks Peter’s cock, fast and wet.

“Ton **—** Mr. Stark, please, please” Peter begs, and this close it’s easy to pretend they know each other, that Peter really is living the dream. 

“You’re too good to me, kid,” Tony groans, biting the edge of Peter’s hip. “Go on then, I want to see you come.”

Peter moans as his orgasm rip through him, sharp and fast at the command. Tony works him through it, with soft praise even as some of his come lands on the older man’s face, painting an indecent picture. 

Peter wants to say something, blush and apologize, but as the adrenaline of his orgasm fades, the darkness at the edge of his vision leaks in staggeringly fast. 

He hardly has a chance to open his mouth before he blacks out.

**—**

When Peter opens his eyes again the suns had set, the room lit by some magical overhead invisible lighting fixture. Peter blinks the sleep away slowly, still dizzy from what feels like an incredibly vivid dream, his body twisting into the sheets as he imagines Mr. Stark’s face stained in his come. It’s only a moment later when he notices the older man sitting on a chair next to him, the entire room still somehow smelling like sex, that Peter realizes it all had actually happened. 

The alien drugs and what Peter could only guess had been the universe’s fastest blowjob. 

Mr. Stark — _Tony,_ Peter reminds himself again, _because he still doesn’t remember me,_ is gratefully wearing more clothes than last time, but his expression is closed off. 

“So how much of the mission brief did you miss, Pete?” Tony asks, his face impassive but voice hard. 

“Um. I don’t —” Peter flounders before he notices the object clenched tightly in Tony’s hand. 

“You’re telling me you _knew_ that the magical aliens had mating rituals involving drinking out of unmistakably golden chalices and you just chose to do it… anyway?”

Peter pales when he hears _magical aliens_ and _mating rituals_. 

“Is that why they only walk around in pairs?” Peter asks, and Tony sighs. 

“Yes, kid. For a genius, I still don’t know much about this planet but I figured that fun fact out the hard way pretty early on. Didn’t Fury tell you?” 

Peter blanches, the answer plain on his face. MJ always told him he was a _terrible_ liar. 

Tony’s eyes narrow, “SHIELD hasn’t authorized you, have they?” 

“Tony, I can explain — ” Peter tries, hoping Tony won’t ask the damning question, the one he’s been trying his best to avoid this entire time. 

“Who are you, kid?” Tony asks, and it was foolish for Peter to think fate would be in his favor after everything that’s happened.

Foolish to think he could save them both. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Open-ending is intentional, hope that is okay recip. I promise there is more to come though it will be in a completely different fanfic. 
> 
> Your prompts inspired me even though I haven't really written a "long" fic in like, years so I apologize if this isn't very good at all and I'm sorry for any and all the mistakes, they are all my fault!


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